Ghazal of the Better-Unbegun

Too volatile¹， am I？  too voluble？  too much a word-person？

    I blame the soup：  I'm a primordially²

    stirred person.

    Two pronouns and a vehicle was Icarus with wings.

    The apparatus³ of his selves made an ab-

    surd person.

    The sound I make is sympathy's：  sad dogs are tied afar.

    But howling I become an ever more un-

    heard person.

    I need a hundred more of you to make a likelihood.

    The mirror's not convincing—— that at-best in-

    ferred person.

    As time's revealing gets revolting， I start looking out.

    Look in and what you see is one unholy

    blurred⁴ person.

    The only cure for birth one doesn't love to contemplate⁵.

    Better to be an unsung song， an unoc-

    curred person.

    McHugh， you'll be the death of me —— each self and second studied！

    Addressing you like this， I'm halfway⁶ to the

    third person.